Tritocanonical: The Unwilling Guardian
by Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicant
Summary: As the war against the Darkness increases, more Ghosts are dispatched throughout Sol to find more Guardians, even in places where they formerly could not go. One of them finds a Guardian who does not appreciate being dragged back to life, or fighting against those it once considered allies. But this one could be the City's last hope…
1. The Ghost of Ares

~X~

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

 ** _The Ghost of Ares_**

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

 ** _The Prodigal Returns_** — **KPM Music** —(YouTube, KPM Musichouse-dot-com)

Name: _Ares Vallis_  
Location: North of _Margaritifer Terra_ , south of _Chryse Planitia_ , west of _Meridiani Planum_  
Coordinates: 10.4°N/25.8°W  
Length: 1,700 km/1,100 mi

* * *

Mars.

A desolate place, drier than the Sahara Desert and devoid of all life, even the merest whisper of it. The Collapse had spared nothing. All of remnants of human history had been erased, leaving only lonely monuments to testify to _Homo-sapiens_ ' former, dying glory. Great mountains pushed upwards from the ground, former echoes of geological activities that are all but extinct, sending forth vast shadows of death and mystery across the rusty landscape. Rocks lay in abundance, shattered by war, split by storms, scattered by things of unimaginable might and power.

Such is the strength of the Cabal.

A great, lopsided chunk of rock hung low in the planet's atmosphere, carven into a form that held meaning only for her shapers—Phobos, one of the Martian world's two moons. Drawn nearly two thousand kilometers closer to the Red Planet for an unspecified purpose, Phobos' most prominent crater Stickney could be seen clearly against the orange sky. Three Cabal Fleetbases had been constructed upon her as bastions or launching pads for a supposed invasion into the Inner System, but no one really knew what they were for or the reason why Phobos' orbit had been altered so drastically. But it was always safer to hope and plan for the worst.

Beneath the Martian sentinel was a diagonal valley called Ares Vallis, a long outflow channel for what had been formerly water in the distant past, ages before even the Traveler's arrival, now dry and full of sand and rock, running from the north/north-west to the south/south-east. Due west was a crater called Sagan; due south was Galilaei, and several other named places from the olden days when Mars had been colonized.

Now she was part of the Cabal's empire, and was contested heavily with the Vex machines and the Fallen Houses of Wolves and Storms; travel was dangerous for any offworlder.

Hovering through the deserted valley, sounds occasionally pinging from the jagged walls and rocky crags, there flew a Ghost, one of several that had gone to Mars to search for… for whatever they could find. It was said that there could exist no defenders of Earth to be raised here, too dry and too barren to support whatever microbial life that may yet cling to the bones. But this one Ghost was determined, outlasting even the others. It could feel the call of something, someone, compelling it to continue on, never to rest.

Appearing as a sphere the size of a baseball protected in a Frontier-colored shell the Ghost floated around rocks scattered everywhere, its green-blue eye continually projecting a scanning beacon, relentlessly searching. Known to local Martian Guardians as "Seeker", whose personality was that of a "male", this Ghost had been on the search for many, many months now, always looking, never ceasing. The Tower had told him repeatedly that his mission was in vain; even other Ghosts had said that there was nothing to be found here. Nothing but Vex and Fallen.

And Cabal.

"No, no-no-no, this can't be right," he murmured to himself after orbiting a solitary rock several times. "There's nothing here." Switching off his beacon Seeker turned and soared off to the other side of Ares Vallis, to examine the rocks there. "No, nothing here either—"

He spun around, and looked up, as a cascade of rocks tumbled down from the top of the valley's walls to the dry, red floor. The reverberations continued for some time after, weak as they were in the thin Martian atmosphere. Warning Seeker that, for all of his single-mindedness, there were others on the prowl. He had heard of what had nearly happened to Dinklebot as that one patrolled the Old Russian Cosmodrome, searching for its Guardian—three Fallen, a Captain and two lesser creatures had nearly destroyed it before it found what it was looking for.

The Ghost continued to scan, using infrared and radar-sensors to locate enemies. None showed. This was to be expected, though. There was not yet a device developed by the City except the Ghosts who could de-cloak a hidden Goblin, and the Vandals were equally sneaky unless careless. And even the Ghosts could not yet detect Psions, who could phase in and out at will, rivaling even the Vex.

"Hmm, they grow restless. So they overextend their hand in their haste. Most curious," Seeker muttered, turning back to continue searching, but kept the occasional lookout. His eight pyramidic shell pieces flexed and twisted about in anticipation, waiting for the attack that would inevitably come.

"They" were what he called his enemies. None had visibly shown themselves today, too crafty to be easily located, but in the past Harpies and even a Hydra had tried to track him. Thankfully, on that rare occasion when Seeker had run into _two_ Hydras and several battalions of Vex machinery, there had been a fireteam of five Guardians to defend him. No such luck today, though Seeker had heard that Commander Zavala had issued a bounty for any available Guardian to keep an eye on him.

Perhaps that is who it was, a Guardian tracking him, keeping him safe. It couldn't be a Hunter, too noisy. Warlocks were a possibility. Perhaps a Titan? Seeker half-heartedly wished the warrior would show up, provide some company and conversation, catch up on the latest gossip, that sort of thing.

"Shaking" his head, metaphorically-speaking, the Ghost zoomed on, pausing here to investigate a likely crack in the canyon wall or stopping there at a rift in the desert. At least if he was mad for doggedly searching Mars for his supposed Guardian, Seeker was providing the City a great service by remapping Mars. Already he had most of the North Pole and much of the northern regions locked up inside his electronic library, an infinitesimal fraction of the total memory-capacity inside.

Halfway down Ares Vallis, nearing Taytay and Aram Chaos craters, Seeker's scanners detected something buried in the soil, a rare concentration undisturbed by wind or Cabal Interceptors.

A fraction of life.

For the briefest moments Seeker hovered dazedly in the air, his mind awhirl with both excitement and unease, eye blinking rapidly in a parody of surprise. Turning the scanner on again Seeker began to decode the layers of dust and soil one more. The readings came back positive. There was indeed a body located under soil, buried and protected by the Martian ravages of wind and time. It was roughly human in size though of what type was uncertain, the depth at which it lay too great to be certain.

No trace of machinery or electronics though; couldn't be an Exo. The bioreadings flickered between Awoken and _Homo-sapiens_ , occasionally turned up as negative or fluctuated wildly between all possible outcomes. Interesting, will have to look into that later. On the second reading there came back something reminiscent of weaponry net to it, roughly rifle-shaped, possibly of alien make—Golden Age? The Tower Cryptarchs would love Seeker to death if the new Guardian came back with Golden Age-technology. Reassuring.

By the fourth reading, after running through all possible simulations and analyzings, Seeker was certain it could work. Perhaps today his searching would be ended.

"All right, let's see who you are, Guardian," he muttered excitedly, eye dilating rapidly. He expanded his shell into the "Resurrection" phase, a wider sphere of blue energy with his eight pyramid sections circling around in opposite polar orbits, and his single eye grew brighter.

A stream of multicolored energy floated down into the dusty mound, and passed through the Martian soil to the body beneath. For a moment nothing happened—then, as Seeker suddenly contracted his shell, two hands emerged from the ground, soil being pushed aside as the rest of the body forced its way up, the regenerative energies of the Ghost regrowing flesh and bone over where before lay dust. The skeletal body slowly became more substantial as life began anew.

The weapon Seeker had detected was still clenched in the being's hands, as if it had died holding it, the dust preserving it remarkably well. The Ghost also noted there were armor fragments and tattered wrappings still attached to the body, and modified the usual post-resurrection armoring. Rock molecules disassembled to reform into plastimetal and Relic iron, encasing and fitting the fragile lifeform to protect it from Mars' harsh atmosphere. After so long Seeker would not dare do anything that would endanger his new Guardian.

For at last Seeker had found what he was looking for.

The newly reborn Guardian body's feet lightly touched the ground next to where it used to lie in death, resting upon its toes before its full weight was brought to bear upon its smallish feet and slender legs; and then as Seeker released the being collapsed to the ground in a heap.

His work done Seeker drifted closer to the armored form, inspecting his work. The armor looked solid enough, if a bit flimsy. Good for the Guardian's slim build—was it female? Not entirely fancy but durability is what counted for each beginning Guardian, the so-called "Risen". Who knew what creatures may descend upon them; after what had nearly happened to Dinklebot all Ghosts were required to transmit their location to the nearest patrolling Guardian available, a fireteam if possible, once they had gotten their warrior resurrected and mobile.

"Wait a moment…"

Now that her body was out of the ground, Seeker could (and did) conduct an in-depth scan for any anomalies or oddities in the Guardian's constitution—and what had come back was… disturbing. Something was not right here. The Ghost flitted around the stirring Guardian, apparently under the impression something had gone wrong. That couldn't be right; all scans had come back positive!

His eye glowing brightly Seeker "cleared" his throat. Perhaps it would be best to get to know them before he called for backup. "Wake up, Guardian," he said. "Welcome back to the land of the—" A blast of energy sent the drone flying backwards, spinning front-over-back, and his hovering mode briefly disabled itself. _Clink-clink-CLUNK!_ went the drone, bouncing down the red wall and landing hard on the canyon floor.

"Ouch…" he groaned, shaking himself off and trying to rise.

As he did the newly resurrected warrior had backed up, shaking her head hard as if trying to clear out the cobwebs, waving her gun in confusion—common enough for all resurrections. When Seeker had reengaged his hovering drive and soared over to her, however, there appeared the first signs of cognitive life in the Guardian—she immediately shifted into what was clearly a defensive pose, holding her weapon close to her chest and underneath her gun arm, and aimed at the Ghost.

"Easy, easy, I am not your enemy, I am your friend—well, actually, I'm a Ghost, your Ghost you see," Seeker began, moving warily out of the gun-barrel's range (the female humanoid tracked it), "and we aren't safe here. There are enemies out there that are the stuff of nightmares and they could be coming for us right now." Seeker remembered the falling rocks of before and unease started creeping in his mind; just to be safe he took his gaze off the Guardian and turned to see behind.

When Seeker turned around the Guardian had already put a respectable amount of distance between them (by those movements he was definitely male), sprinting like a roadrunner down Ares Vallis and nearing a turn. The light Martian gravity made his flight absurdly easy.

"Hey, wait up, Guardian! It's too dangerous!" Seeker cried, zooming after him. "You're not supposed to move yet! We need—hey!"

The Guardian had pointed his gun over his shoulder and let off a red blast at Seeker, who promptly dodged it. The blast melted a rock upon impact—melted? looked more like it had _exploded!_ The drone shuddered as he looked at the damage—then dodged again. Two more blasts melted the canyon walls, all missing Seeker, and created in the process enough noise to bring down the entire Cabal army upon them.

Or—and here the Ghost had to restrain his shuddering at the thought—even the Vex. They were more trouble than the Fallen and Cabal put together.

"C'mon, I'm not your enemy!" he called, flying after.

Reaching the turn the Guardian jumped and darted down as quickly as a shadow, letting off a shot or two at his pursuing Ghost. Missed again. Madness. Utter madness. Who had ever heard of a Ghost being shot at by his own Guardian? And that a resurrected being too! This wasn't supposed to happen. Huffing, Seeker instead decided upon a different tactic and rose up out of the canyon, the red sky glowing. Best to observe instead of frightening his charge even more—perhaps he would gain clues how to act around him.

Going into stealth mode Seeker silently tracked his warrior still running through the sensors embedded in his armor, and marveled at the speed at which the Guardian was going. This surely could not be a natural human or even an Awoken. Clearly there had to be some sort of biological modification to the being's musculature and nervous system, not to mention the blood circulatory system required to support his incredible speed. When they got back to the Tower this Guardian was going over to the doctors for examination; if there was anything unusual about him they'd find it, and if it was Golden Age tech—

Wait… what was he doing?

Seeker went down, drawing near to his charge. The Guardian had come to a halt and was now trying… wait, was he trying to tear off the armor?

"How odd," Seeker murmured. "That armor is supposed to protect you, not hinder—oh, I see now."

No, not tearing it off—examining it. And what the Guardian found apparently displeased him. No wonder he was going crazy, trying to get himself out of it. How odd. Didn't he realize he was in a toxic atmosphere? Carbon dioxide mixed with metallic red dust was poisonous to both human and Awoken constitutions, and could even wear down Exo bodies if they inhaled it. What was he think—?

 _What was that?_

Seeker whirled around—this time, he was certain, there was no illusion. Rocks had indeed fallen from the canyon's top and into the floor below. And what had disturbed them was—

"Oh dear, this is not good, not good at all."

Abandoning all pretense of observation Seeker soared down to where the Guardian was frantically trying to get out of his armor (oblivious to everything around him) and quite literally shouted into his ear: "Guardian! I suppose you might not have noticed—" _Bang!_ another shot, but Seeker flitted around and over him, "—but all of that shooting is—" _Bang!_ "—attracting lots of unwelcome—" _Bang!_ "—visitors and, for the love of all that is good and holy—" _Bang!_ "— _stop shooting me if you want to survive!_ "

Before the Guardian could get off another shot a "warbling" sound echoed throughout the valley, and reverberated menacingly around them; the Guardian froze, and looked at where the sound had come from. Another joined it, followed by numerous clanking and scraping sounds. He started to back up, his gun now pointed down the valley.

"It is the Vex," Seeker whispered, moving closer to the Guardian's head. "Hurry, get ready to run, fight if necessary. I'll raise up help for us." It was a mark of how focused the Guardian was on the coming machines that he did not shoot or even attempt to hit the Ghost. But he didn't seem fearful, or at least none showed visibly; although if the tightening of his fingers 'round the gun's hilt were any indicator, he was indeed afraid. At least he didn't object to Seeker's presence.

There came the monotonous "clank, clank, clank" march of an orderly Vex squadron—Hobgoblins, most likely, according to the "shivers" in the ground—to them, though none had appeared yet. The Martian day was drawing to a close and darkness was descending upon the Ares Vallis. No matter—the red photoreceptors of the machines would precede them first, making them easy targets.

"Come on, I've managed to get a Dropship on the air," Seeker said to an unresponsive Guardian. "We'll be safe soon. But first we must move, now come on."

Slowly, but perceptibly, the warrior shook his head. Seeker's eye contracted in surprise and no little irritation. What on Earth had prompted this behavior? It was unheard of—perhaps this was a soldier who knew how to fight?

"Are you mad? The Vex are not to be underestimated. They can disintegrate Guardians with a single shot of their rifles and I don't want to lose you just after I found you." It was a common occurrence, Ghosts losing their charges to Vex disintegration weaponry and unable to revive them, their molecules irrevocably scattered, the Light lost. "Now come on."

Seeker turned and began to move away. He had gone six feet before stopping and turning back; the Guardian still stood there, clenching his rifle, and doing apparently nothing else. "Very well, you want to do this the hard way, I'll oblige you," the Ghost announced. Suddenly glowing blue, Seeker approached his charge hurriedly, intending to force the Guardian's body to move; and as he neared him, the first Vex units rounded the canyon's turn.

The Vex were massive, as large as Minotaurs—they were reportedly a newer variant of Hobgoblin, never seen before in Sol. Shaped more like Exos yet retaining that distinctive sparse look common to all Vex units, and with not one but three photoreceptors (changing colors too) implanted in their frame-like heads, these machines could take out an entire Titan-based fireteam without significant damage. Armed with more advanced Line Rifles and Torch Hammers, they were a formidable foe indeed.

The Guardian released a volley of seventeen shots in quick succession before Seeker could get to him—they struck two of the seven Hobgoblins hard, leaving scorings and blackened marks on their armor—and the Vex returned fire, their shields engaging.

Jumping quickly to the side, forcing Seeker to duck down or be shot in the crossfire, the Guardian dashed behind a rock and shot back. It flew and struck one of the Hobgoblins' eyes dead-center, causing it to go out. In response a Torch Hammer's Void sphere, with its distinctive "thud-thud" sound, arced towards him with extreme prejudice.

Waiting until the last second the resurrected humanoid ducked and rolled to another rock as his former cover disintegrated; little craters erupted in the valley-floor as Solar lasers missed him. He fired off another volley at the Vex and this time succeeded in destroying one of them. With an explosion the Hobgoblin's mind-core collapsed and radiolarian fluid spilled everywhere, sizzling in the Martian atmosphere; the shattered body fell down to rest in the dusty earth, never to rise again.

Interested, despite its panicking, the Ghost observed the resurrected Guardian's fighting style, noting that he could teach even Crucible champions a thing or two about fighting. In quick succession two more Hobgoblins were brought down—one's head blown off with its leg following a moment later, the other ripped apart shortly thereafter—and all without the warrior getting a single scratch, he jumping all over the place like a crazed Bladedancer.

What was that weapon he was using, anyhow? Must be a powerful one indeed, the Ghost thought. He could just imagine the Cryptarchs' reaction when the Guardian gave it over. From what he could see it looked angular and boxy, with multiple handles and a small scope.

Now there only two Vex machines left and they had spaced themselves out, one armed with a Torch Hammer and the other a Line Rifle respectively. They appeared to have learned from their companions' demise, and now utilized cover instead of rushing the warrior as all Vex machines did. Something was missing, though, one that the Ghost didn't like. They were going down too quickly. It was not like for Hobgoblins to be defeated this quickly…

Was it possible that this unknown weapon the Guardian was using could penetrate Hobgoblin shields?

Throwing safety to the wind, the Guardian rushed them. With an explosion one of the machines exploded, radiolarian fluid splashing every which way and some landing on the Guardian's armor as he leapt over its demise. The other attempted to physically strike him with its Hammer—only to have the being backflip upon landing and fire two shots in retaliation.

 _Click!_

"Oh dear, this is not good," Seeker commented worriedly, and spared a glance up at the darkened sky.

Throwing aside his useless weapon—apparently, it utilized physical bullets mixed with Solar energy, which explained the explosions—the Guardian charged and caught hold of the Hobgoblin's weapon-armor. It immediately swung around with inhuman speed, and tried to throw him off; yet astonishingly he used its swing to flip around and land on its metal head.

Fascinated the Ghost watched as, like a cowboy taming a bronco, the Guardian gamely hung onto the machine's neck/head and started punching it viciously. Hmmm… That was unusual, Seeker thought. He had never heard of a Guardian, not even a newly resurrected one, who was physically able to punch a Vex machine in the head unless they were a Titan and armed with that special Titan melee of the Strikers. This one had obviously seen some combat with the Vex. Look at him, denting the metal and cracking the armor easily!

So… who was he?

Even as the Ghost speculated on this, the Hobgoblin finally got hold of the Guardian and threw him off; and Seeker instantly knew something was wrong. With a loud _crack_ , the Guardian hit the wall, head-first, and collapsed like a sack of grain upon the ground. _Oh no, this is bad, this is really, really bad!_ Seeker watched, unable to do anything, as the Vex started forward, its Torch Hammer glowing purple as it charged up—

—all of a sudden a flaming hammer soared out of nowhere and slammed into the machine with extreme force—as the pieces fell, splattered with Vex oils and organic fluids, the weapon disappeared in a flash of Light.

Three Guardians had suddenly appeared there in the Light's aftershock, an Exo Titan, a Warlock and a Hunter, their Ghosts providing light to illuminate their way. Even as Seeker watched the Titan, the tallest of the three, placed her hammer at her side as if it were Mjölnir itself. "All right, who hollered for us here?" the Hunter called out, looking this way and that. "Jesus Christ, look at all this." He nudged the recently destroyed Hobgoblin's foot with his own. "Looks like the Vex had a party!"

"I—I did," Seeker stammered, rising out of his hiding place, relieved that reinforcements had arrived. "What took you so long?"

"Taken," the Titan answered, her voice grim. Her Vanir-armor set had seen much wear and tear, and was discolored by a dark fluid that definitely was not related to the Vex. Seeker chose not to comment. He had been far too gone from the City to know what "they" were exactly.

"So, these are the Precursor Nexūs Defenders, I take it?" the Warlock asked, bending down to finger some of the radiolarian fluids. "Interesting. This would satisfy Ikora and Eris's bounties."

"What's this I hear?" the Hunter interrupted, turning to look at her with mock-astonishment in his voice. "Has ol' Eris Morn finally given up ranting about Crota and Oryx and is now looking for Vex?" His armor was more ramshackle than the Titan's but looks were not the full story. From its appearance, however, Seeker was able to ascertain he'd been to the Reef.

"I'll be sure to mention that to her when I see her, Vesck," the Warlock answered him, amusement in her voice. Her armor was of an unusual type, one Seeker had never seen before. "You've been too much an annoyance—"

"If you're quite finished, my Guardian needs medical attention," Seeker interrupted, flashing his light in the Warlock's helmeted face. "I don't know how hard of a hit he took but it is vital he—"

"We get it, Ghost," the Titan said, placing a hand upon his shell briefly. "We understand your concern. Three-Sixty, if you please?"

"Certainly, Oceru-45," her Ghost, answered, her voice a cheery one. She immediately flew up and out of sight. Seeker knew that within moments a City Dropship would appear, but that didn't make him comfortable waiting. How ironic that he had spent months and months patiently waiting while looking for his Guardian, only to now show impatience at the slightest delay. The Vex battle had rattled him that much.

And what in the name of the Traveler were Taken, anyhow?

"Ghost, come over here, please."

The Warlock, the only one not yet introduced, was kneeling beside the stunned Guardian Seeker had brought back to life, her hand passing over it. Oceru-45 and Vesck had taken stations at opposite ends of the valley, the latter still testing fallen Vex machinery as if they were still alive. Seeker flew over to her and hovered beside, his light mingling with that of her own Ghost, an aquamarine-colored drone.

"Yes… Guardian?"

"I am Ismay, Ghost," she answered with a smile beneath her helmet. Then her voice hardened somewhat. "Who exactly is this?"

"He's my Guardian, Ismay. I found him not too long ago, buried in the sands somewhere over there." Seeker indicated where Vesck was skipping around, apparently not having a care in the world.

Ismay observed him for a moment, thinking. Finally, she said: "What do you mean, found him? There is nothing to be found here. It's all sand, rock, and Cabal."

"Ah, yes, erm, right—ahem, I did find him, and yes, right here on Mars, in this very valley, too," Seeker protested, wiggling his shell sections in emphasis.

"What is your name, Ghost?"

"Oh, sorry. I am called Seeker, Ismay."

She was silent for a moment. "Oh. You're _that_ Ghost! No wonder…" She cleared her throat. "Anyway," Ismay indicated the fallen being before her. "What is he?"

"I… I don't understand you, Ismay," Seeker said, flustered. "He's a Guardian." His eye shifted from her to the stunned Guardian and back.

"Yes, I can see that—he shows signs of the recently deceased. What I meant is, have you found anything unusual when bringing him back?"

Seeker thought for a moment, the excitement of battle having chased away what had transpired earlier Then it came back to him. "Oh, yes, yes, something had happened. His lifesigns were… were not exactly human or Awoken. At least, that's what I thought. I could be mistaken, the dust of Mars having been on me for too long."

"You're correct," she answered softly. "He isn't either of them."

A blinding light suddenly shone over them, and the rumble of VTOL engines echoed throughout the valley. The Titan's Ghost, 360, had been successful. Even now she flew down, excluding a smugness that was rare for a Ghost and was joined by the Hunter's own drone. The second one started chattering about the Vex machines around them and how these differed from the ordinary Vex Hobgoblins.

"He isn't?" Seeker was, to put it mildly, stunned. "But… But there were no other species that existed during the time of the Golden Age, unless…" His eye widened. "You mean he is a Jovian?"

Hailing from the moons of Jupiter the Jovians were an even stranger race than the Awoken. During the Collapse an extremely radical change had come upon those humans who lived out in the Outer System. Vaguely cephalopodic in appearance—resembling a Lovecraftian monster, some said—they were mysterious entities, being ruled by "the Nine" a hierarchy of beings unknown to the Traveler. No one knew what exactly they were, not even the Awoken, but they were implied to be powerful allies, if they could endure the Light of the Traveler. Insofar as the cryptic Xûr had implied with his strange hints and unusual sayings. Many Guardians were unnerved by him but put up with it for the strange engrams he offered to sell.

For one such of these beings to be here spoke of grave portents, to be chosen as a Guardian. No wonder he knew how to deal with the Vex. They were probably common where he had come from—maybe (and here Seeker grew excited) perhaps his weapon was keyed exclusively to the Vex physiology. That would explain why he was able to take out the Hobgoblins with ease, penetrating even their shields. What a find!

But as it looked hopefully into Ismay's face in the light of the VTOL ship above them Seeker knew that was not what she had in mind.

"Unfortunately, Seeker," she said sadly, "this being is a Psion. A Cabal Psion. One of our enemies."

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

 **5/4—7/2016 EDIT** : _Cleaned this up a bit and made it neater. Now, I'm lazy, but if any of you know the names of complete armor sets **not** of Exotic or Legendary quality that would be great. I'd like to outfit my Guardians with a more uniform armor set than the ramshackle getups ingame._

* * *

A/N: This could be longer but my mind tends to short-circuit on these things unless I put specific thought into it. Besides, don't expect updates on this as I'm working on three other stories simultaneously and my attention wanders a lot as it is. So, sorry in advance. Hope you like what you read here. I really need to play Destiny instead of just watching my elder brother playing it.

All the DLCs—The Taken King included—will be featured in here, so minor spoilers for the most recent. Note: I am not going to be following what seems to be the typical story-format in here, that of following a retelling of Destiny's story.

Review if you've enjoyed what you found here. And maybe Follow along (dare I say a Favorite?) if you want to be notified when my capricious muse allows me to update this. :)

Cheerio, friends!


	2. The Return Home—Right?

A/N: I will be doing something a little different with my quotes in this story. For those who have read my other stories, I keep the quotes anonymous—because a few I use from friends, as well as different stories—but here they'll be Destiny oriented. Because why the heck not?

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

 _ **The Return Home—Right?**_

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Name: _Eos Chasma  
_ Base: Firebase Delphi _  
_Location : Southern part of _Valles Marineris_ , east; north-west of _Loire Valles_ ; south-west of _Margaritifer Terra_  
Coordinates: 15.7S/46.8°W  
Length: 1,413 km/877 mi

* * *

 ** _"We have just as much to learn from our enemies as we do from our past."_**

— _Master Rahool_

Seeker hovered beside the medical tank where his Psionic Guardian was interred, watching him. The creature was floatng inside bacta-fluid, a mysterious substance recovered from Golden Age tech, healing both from his injuries sustained from the Vex and premortem trauma which had undoubtedly led to his death. Holborn, the Martian veteran responsible for the outpost, had insisted they use Cabal chemicals alongside the bacta. Psions were an awful lot like the bulkier Cabal, living inside pressurized suits full of a stinking oil composed of hundred of different chemicals—most of which were entirely foreign to human knowledge. Still, the table of the elements being as they are, many had been able to be synthesized using local materials thanks to a Cryptarch stationed at Master Rahool's behest. What good they did to the Psion remained to be seen, for so far only the bacta seemed to have any effect on him.

Now that the Psion—looking strangely at peace inside the tank—had stopped trying to kill him Seeker took the opportunity to observe him. He had no illusions about the meaning of his choice: all Ghosts were directed by the Traveler to seek out warriors full of Light, and this one was no exception. That aside, Psion physiology was remarkably similar to humankind: bipedal, bilateral, and roughly the same height as a tall man. Only Titans and Exos stood taller than they.

However there were differences—four-fingered, like their larger-counterparts; stood on their toes instead of the soles once the boots had been removed; and thinner, slighter than even Hive Thrall. There was no visible nose save for two nostril slits, no visible ears, and a small mouth currently plugged with a rebreather. According to other field intelligence, they moved swiftly and decisively, their voices were higher-pitched, and served as pilots, engineers, operatives, and psychokinetic specialists. That psychokinesis was their most dangerous asset, manipulating Arc energy freely; and other reports indicated some controlled Solar and Void just as easily.

There was where the City's intelligence on Psions ended. Most of it had come from a Ghost who spent years living on Mars, one of the first to do so, hiding inside Cabal bases, watching and observing the enemy. It was there the City learned there was some hint of division within the Cabal warmachine, but only just. In battle they worked together and with no disunity.

So what made this Psion different?

In the past there had been some false starts in reviving Fallen, but each and every one of those had collapsed before being remade wholly. It was as if something inside them—be it physical or moral—that rejected the Ghost's unilateral offer to life. No attempts had been made with living Fallen. There was not a single Dreg or Vandel, let alone the higher ups, who wouldn't jump for the chance to dismantle a Ghost. That one Fallen creature in the Reef was too… oily… for the few Ghosts who looked him over.

Underneath that purple-and-blue armor the Psion's skin was surprisingly pink, but not white at all. Either this was his natural color or there was something else that kept the skin healthy. It rather reminded Seeker of newborn puppies. He chuckled at the mental image that produced—a mother dog clustered with young puppies. Aha, that's what the Psion represented the most, a doggish-like creature. A pity his head was so humanlike as to be uncanny.

Checking the tank readings one more time (nothing significant had changed or been altered drastically) Seeker decided his time here was done, for now. The Psion wasn't going anywhere, and in his knocked-out, drugged-up state he was hardly able to anyway. His rear plates clicking Seeker turned about and left the room, feeling slightly more optimistic about the future. _The Psion will fit in just right_ , he thought. _It'll just take some time getting used to. I only hope the Cryptarchs will let the poor fellow get some rest, eat and drink, and have his own pleasure every now and then_.

Having long since found the ongoing Crucible match boring to watch, Seeker went to the armory. Here was stored every single bit of technology Guardians recovered from the field and that which was too much or too bulky to carry away back to the City. Also stored was the largest collection of Cabal ordnance outside a firebase warehouse—Interceptors, sand-skimmers, walkers both light and heavy, all manner of infantry weapons and armor. Most of these were for study and reengineering, and a few for patrol.

There were many uses a Ghost had inside the armory. For one thing there was always new things to be scanned, cataloged, and stored for later usage or transport. For another there was always something broken that needed to be fixed, and required a Ghost's analysis. For the Cabal gear this last was especially true. It seemed that without regular maintenance just about after every other use one vehicle or another would suffer some kind of internal problem that needed to be investigated and repaired. For all of the Cabal's impressive feats of engineering, folk said, they were quite shoddy about keeping or even using the manual.

Locating the armory Seeker entered, the doors parting without a sound.

Over along one side, closest to the main entrance, hovered twelve Interceptors at the ready, for whenever a Guardian needed armor and weapon support. Above them were racks and racks of various Sparrow models, most of them old and outdated. Opposite them were the sand-skimmers, large transports that were the land-based equivalent of a Harvester. Not very useful for Guardians, as they both had their own methods of transport, and that the Cabal were notorious in detonating them whenever one was spotted. Looming above these were three walkers, two of them light, the last heavy. These were very useful in field patrols against Vex, and not even the Cabal seemed to care the few times a squad was engaged with them.

Ignoring all of these Seeker went over to a side chamber where the armor was stored. Inside was all of the different armors Guardians used—or, as often was the case, _didn't_ use—kept safely stored for when needed. Also here, illuminated by Seeker's eye, was the ramshackle armor he made for his Psionic Guardian—

He halted in mid-flight. _No, no, that would never do_ , he thought. He couldn't keep on thinking of him as "the Psion" or "that Psionic Guardian". No, that man—thing—creature—whatever was going to have a name, a real, proper name.

Hmm…

Come to think of it, he couldn't think of any names. In fact, he wasn't even sure Psions _had_ names, let alone their own unique names. Or did they have Cabal names? Or was it just numbers for them? Well, better start somewhere…

Let's see…

 _Nu'uarc_? Hmm, possibility, possibility…

 _Vuruz_? No, too… Hive-ish.

 _Dau'uol_? Eh… sit on that one for later.

 _Vau'uark_? Too long.

 _Khau'uod_? Was that even a name?

Well, to be fair, all of these were names pulled out of a Cabal roster, and a very mundane one at that—soldiers assigned to janitorial duties for infractions against their unit, boss, or something else entirely. Seeker didn't like any of those names, except for the the first one, and he wasn't sure _what_ the Psion would like. _Oh, okay then,_ his mental processes went, _so a quick name? One that can be used for now while he's out until he wakes? Say, I like the sound of that_. _So—which of these names… ah, Traveler-damn it, let's go with the first one_.

So, Nu'uarc it was.

Inordinately pleased with himself Seeker continued on, searching for the temporary armor he made for Nu'uarc. He distinctly recalled building around and modifying the old armor Nu'uarc had, the condition of which had been terrible. Just how long exactly had he been dead, anyhow? It didn't look that all decayed… wait, did these _taken_ have anything to do with it?

Aha, here it is.

Unlike most Cabal soldiers Psionic armors were focused around the torso, with minimal emphasis placed on the legs and arms. In fact, sparseness was the watchword for Psions. Their armor was also made of very light materials, too, signifying their role as support infantry and pilots. The bulk of their body suit was just that, a suit made to protect them against the Martian atmosphere and the dust. According to bodily scans taken of Nu'uarc he couldn't survive anywhere outside an environmentally wet-and-warm place. So planets like Venus or Earth would be good choices to put him at, if there was a choice to be had. Well, he had his Ghost, and there was no finer medic.

Contrariwise to their armors, the Slug Rifle was something else entirely. Somewhat heavy these semiautomatics were incredibly easy to use and maintain, able to be repaired quickly. The ammunition was impressive, as always, something which Guardians had a shortage of. They were getting closer in figuring out how to reverse-engineer these warheads for their own usage; bounties as of late had been focused on acquiring as many of these guns as possible. This one was just another one to be added.

Seeker floated about it, observing its simple design, wondering how so light a creature as Nu'uarc could use it for long without getting tired. Or for that matter how he used it. Ammo was limited to sixty rounds, so one had to be cautious for how long and how often they fired it. Footage had shown it took about two of these to take down a Goblin, one if the core was hit. The same was true for a Hobgoblin, even with that stasis shield of theirs. Harpies were their own problem, and Minotaurs often needed an entire magazine to kill them, though that was mostly due to their Void shields than any strong armor.

How Nu'uarc took out those seven Nexūs Defenders—Precursors, right?—and that extremely quickly with those moves of his, said he knew combat, and just ordinary combat but that to rival Guardians. After reading through the base's records Seeker had a very good idea of what Legion he belonged to, but even if his hunch was correct that still didn't speak of the extent of his Guardian's abilities. Sand Eaters were about as skilled as Dancers with fighting Vex, and only the Blind Legion was the best skilled, mostly because they went the furthest into Vex temples to catch things. Still, this was a very unusual Psion.

What was he doing out in that canyon, anyhow?

Turning Seeker noted a clock on the wall— _18:25_ —and knew it was very late. Ah well, he could always come back to ask his questions later. Perhaps Holborn would know a thing or two. Casting his gaze over the Cabal-manufactured armor and weapon one last time, Seeker vacated the chamber and went to another part of the base for rest. Even Ghosts needed time to, well, literally recharge their batteries.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

 _YOU._

 _YOU ARE ALONE._

 _YOU ARE A DEAD THING._

 _THIS IS A PLACE OF LIFE. YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE. YOU WERE MADE INTO A WEAPON BY A DEAD MASTER._

 _YOU OUGHT TO BE DESTROYED FOR YOUR BLASPHEMY._

 _YOU BETRAYED YOUR OATH. IN BLOOD AND FLESH WAS THIS OATH MADE; IN BLOOD AND FLESH WAS IT UNMADE._

 _BETRAYERS HAVE NO HONOR. THEY HAVE NO HOME. THEY HAVE NO FELLOWSHIP. THEY WILL FIND NO WELCOME._

 _BETRAYERS ARE SENTENCEd TO DEATH._

 _YOU ARE SENTENCED._

 _YOU ARE ALONE, AND WILL BE, FOREVER._

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Ismay Vulane stood watch outside, sitting upon on a crate inside one of Firebase Delphi's high towers, looking out across the dark-red landscape. Beside her hovered her Ghost, aquamarine Scholar Shell winking as fading light fell upon it, always at the ready. Her scout rifle lay unused beside her. When the fireteam had returned to Delphi there was a Crucible Rumble match already underway. Vesck, already bored with no action from the Patrol, had quickly jumped in and hadn't been seen since. Oceru-45 had gone straight to Holborn and only reappeared as the cold sun was touching the horizon. She went out on patrol again, this time with four others, moving toward Loire Valles to scout for Fallen movements. She didn't elaborate as to what she and Holborn discussed, but she seemed mighty displeased with its results.

Ismay stayed behind. As a Warlock anything new was something to be claimed for both study and protection. As an Awoken, arcane knowledge and abstruse lore came naturally to her. The Psion was both, and she intended to capitalize upon it. For instance, why was this the first time a Ghost had chosen a foreign Guardian at a time like this when everything had calmed down, and not during something, say, Crota's reawakening? And why one of the Cabal instead of the more common Fallen? Perhaps it was a mistake, like Osiris? If so, would this Psion become mad? If not, then what? So many questions. Perhaps the Speaker would have a theory, or Ikora.

"A coin for your thoughts, Ismay?"

"Nothing valuable, I'm afraid, Kit-Kat" she answered her Ghost. "Just asking questions I'll likely get answers to further down the road, and I may not like them either. At least it's better than worrying about Oryx."

"Kit-Kat", her Ghost, laughed, a tinkling melodious sound. "I'll have you know that the Tower knows already what Seeker's found. Commander Zavala is in a right pickle and Cayde is not letting him hear the end of it."

Ismay's mouth quirked. Cayde had a lot to get back at Zavala, the infamous "Dread Patrol" notwithstanding. "What of the others?"

"Oh, Shaxx is interested to learn how this Psion fights and the Speaker is anxious for an interview. It hasn't seemed to have crossed their minds that our Guardian will need time to adjust. This one even more so."

"True, that." None of the Tower factions had been alerted yet, but it was a matter of time before one of them found out. Oceru pledged herself to the War Cult and they were always looking for new advantages in fighting. Perhaps she would try to convert this Psion? Hardly likely. "But what worries me the most is how he will react when he wakes," Ismay continued. "We know next to nothing of the Cabal culture beyond vague extrapolations or where they came from or how many of them are out there total. For all we know he could be from one of the Legions here, or from another entirely."

"I am guessing Skyburners," Kit-Kat said darkly. "They are the newest here, and his armor's indicative of that."

"Aye, there's that. At least this is the only serious thing we have to worry about. Hopefully Ikora will recognize that."

"Oh, yes, yes indeed."

They watched for a time as the distant sun slipped away beneath the horizon and the air turned even colder. Martian nights were on average minus one hundred degrees, and the daytime was not much better. It was unfortunate that they were in the winter season, where the temperatures plummeted even further, but that was physics and nature. The Traveller did many things but one thing it couldn't do was ensure Mars retained its atmosphere completely. A molten core, certainty, but the rest had faded away—artificially enhanced atmosphere slowly changed back to its original composition; plants shriveled and dried up, leaving behind husks and only the most hardiest remained; and rich earth changed back into sand.

Fortunately, however, no matter how much things have changed the remnants of humanity's Golden still remained, preserved by that same sand and dry air, much like Old Egypt. Even with the Cabal advance toward the end of the Collapse nothing significant had overly changed—except Phobos, hanging low in the sky and seemingly defying gravity. But that was inconsequential.

"How will the Cabal see it?' Kit-Kat asked suddenly.

"Nothing good, that's what." Ismay grunted. "If they're as strictly regimented as I think they are, they won't take too kindly to it. Unless this Psion came from a unit that was wiped out."

"Oryx?"

"Vex, more like. Oryx hasn't stirred from his Dreadnaught, and we're whittling away at him steadily. He can't have come out here, not after his Martian Echoes' defeat. No, the Vex are using his depletion of the Cabal to expand again, and Traveller knows they are numberless."

"Yes, true…"

They were silent again. Neither spoke again concerning the Psion until Vesck, breathing heavily and wearing new armor, came to relieve them. "So how's everythin' going, mi'ladies?"

"Perfectly well until you showed up," Ismay answered. "I was just starting to feel the cold."

Vesck laughed. "As if. Lightbulb, what's the temperature?"

" _Below minus eighty-seven degrees celsius,_ " a voice echoed from the depths of his helmet. A moment later it materialized in a scattering of light. "Ready for another cold watch," it proclaimed melodramatically.

"You betcha."

"All right, boys," Kit-Kat said, "you have fun."

"Vesck, have you seen Seeker?" Ismay asked, her tone serious.

"Sure, I have. He hasn't strayed far from the medical bay," he answered carelessly. "Better that Oceru's away and Holborn's not."

"Agreed. Thank you." Ismay was sincere. Vesck simply clapped a hand upon her armored shoulder, nodded once in understanding, and moved to take her place. Ismay smiled at him. Vesck could get on her nerves but he was, at his core, a stolid warrior. He was one of Cayde's famous "success stories", except this was actually successful. Thinking deep thoughts of remembrance, mostly centered around the triple fireteam-operation into Crota's realm, Ismay trotted off, light illuminating her path, and disappeared. Deimos rose overhead, a bright speck against the night.

Then—

"Bloody hell, I forgot how much I hate Mars!"

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

Holborn was standing before a hologram, watching a projection of Meridian Bay and the latest troop movements reported by Guardians. The Cabal were reinforcing their positions, yes, that was to expected, but there was a surge of Fallen from the direction of Loire Valles, their new base. Specifically the newly arrived House of Storms. They had been a minor house, a dependent of Wolves until the Queen broke them to pieces. Storms' Kell, a former Baron, took advantage of it to forge his crews into a strong House and hid away from the Reef. Then Oryx arrived and upset the balance of power, and he used that disturbance to move into Mars. Now he was entrenched in and well-nigh impossible to remove.

The aged Titan could feel another headache coming on, and it wasn't something that drink couldn't take away. No, he needed to be sober for this particular one. In fact, the last time he touched a bottle was four months ago, which was when Skolas was reported dead. Now it was Oryx this and Oryx that. Oh, and also Kell Faloriks. More of that last than anything. Even the Cabal Valuses were ordering their men to keep an eye out for the pirate leader. He just wished it was just these reports here that was his main problem.

No, it was Oceru.

That Exo had a head harder than even the legendary Saint-14. If only that damn Ghost had chosen someone a little less controversial. Wait, no, that was wrong. If only that damn Exo could forget about the past just for a little bit to see that not every single Cabal soldier deserved to be shot on sight. How was _he_ supposed to know where the Psion came from? All anybody knew—oh, beggin' the pardon of Her Majesty Oceru—was that he was dead until very recently, and that it was apparently Vex which wiped out his unit, and so completely that very little remained.

No, it wasn't even his problem. That was Tubach's problem, not his. It wasn't his job to mollify her.

He had bigger problems. For instance Ikora had asked him specifically to keep an eye on the Fallen Storms. Not because they caused "a disturbance in the Force" as he liked to sometimes call it, sarcastically, but because there was another Fallen House poking around. They weren't at all hostile, like. No, they were pleasant as pleasant could be, keeping their men on a tighter leash of discipline than any other Fallen he knew. Only sign he'd seen of them was whenever a Skiff of Storms appeared carrying one of those envoys.

Good Traveler it better not be another Skolas.

Apparently young Ikora was worried enough to personally request that one of Holborn's Host—the originals, Lyssa the Lighthearted in fact—permanently keep an eye on them, and report back to her. Crazy Eris had a hand in this, he just knew it. Also that damn Exo—Oceru. Apparently she reported to Ikora as well as Zavala, who knew why or what. Good God, he just hoped it would be a routine report, taking care of a newly revived Guardian before transport back to the City, and be done with it. Instead it had to be a damn Psion, and one that got on a damn Exo's nerves, and on top of that in the middle of what seemed to be a damn Fallen uprising. Oh for the good ol' days when their biggest problems were only rogue Wolves running around the solar system. At least he could take consolation in the fact they had been in the verge of cracking the Cabal exclusion zone before Oryx came, that he was sure of.

"Boss? Somethin' on your mind?"

Holborn sighed. "No, Tibon, no, just an old man's headache."

The youngster came to stand beside him, looking over the panoramic projection critically. "You really should delegate more, Tubach isn't doing enough—"

"Yes, I've heard it all before, Tibon." Holborn waved him down. "I'm just tired. I should go take a rest. I don't know what to do."

"Before you go," the youngster answered, grinning, "perhaps you can tell me just what's going on?"

"If you have any suggestions on dealing with Oceru-45 the next time she appears, that'd be great."

"… Oh."

Holborn cracked a brief, weary grin in return. If there was anything that could shut him up, it would be that. "Nah, don't worry about her. She's only having old problems again."

"I do _not_ fancy getting punched through a wall again!"

"Better you than that Flayer."

Tibon snorted. "Come off it, boss, you're tired, you shouldn't be even doing this." He cast a glance over the hologram again. "Those old things? Give them a rest, let Tubach and Bayle handle the daily reports."

"And what'll I do, huh? Rest my bones watching you youngsters blow each other's brain out in the Crucible or rot away watching the sun?"

"You will let _us_ do the worrying for you. Lighten up, and let us do it for you. We'll even handle Oceru-45 for you. I'd even take a punch to the head a second time if it'll spare _you_ a headache."

Holborn could only smile. "You youngsters and your blighted sense of optimism. All right, I'll take _one_ day off, and then you can complain to me _after_ that day is up about how hard the work is."

"Good enough for me. Ismay's looking for you."

"Not again…"

"Cheer up, you enjoy talking to her."

"It's not that, it's the questions she'll ask."

"Try her." Tibon was grinning, and Holborn was sure he liked it. "Perhaps it'll only be commonplaces."

Holborn looked at him sternly. "You assume too much."

"And you worry too much," Tibon shot back. "Go and relax, boss! That's an order!"

Laughing Holborn nodded and said, "All right, _boss_ , I'll go and do that. But I solemnly swear that if anything goes wrong you'll be coming to me to fix it." Tibon didn't answer, a ghost of laughter flitting about his face as he continued Holborn's work—much faster too, in a way. Holborn knew work when he saw it, and turned to leave. Whatever Ismay had to talk about, best to get it over wi—

—look at you, old man, worrying again. Heh. Lighten up, will you?

Laughing at himself Holborn disappeared from the command room, leaving Tibon behind to finish up the night's work.

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

* * *

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

A/N: So, here's to another chapter. Not like my usual, but I think short is good enough until I get my bearings in this archive. Writing for Destiny is harder than I thought, especially with all of that Grimoire lore to use.


End file.
